


AS THE GEARS CLUNK

by thoughtsdemise



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Adventure, Falling In Love, Humor, M/M, Mech/Mech, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 03:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10585449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsdemise/pseuds/thoughtsdemise
Summary: Summary:  Never do anything half-assed ‘cause you’ll end up regretting it.Prompt:  Drift and Ratchet were given a mission; these are the logged results.





	1. -The Cornered-

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Decepticonsensual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/gifts).



Ratchet limps into his med bay with a deeper scowl on his face than usual.  He chucks some crumbled bits of metal at the nearest wall with a few choice words.  His shoulders slump as he scrubs at his face and wonders why he had agreed to this stupidity.  No, that’s not quite right.  He does know why he agreed.  It had been those big puppy-optics from the one mech who never made them, from the one mech who Ratchet thought could and would never make them.  Oh then came the pouting with those sparkling optics.  It had definitely been that sad little whimper that struck his death knell.

Ratchet huffs.  “Too much of a soft sparked moron for my own good.”

A cleared vent to cover a snicker is given in answer.  Ratchet swivels sharply and glares at the current bane of his existence.  Drift’s smug little smile grows into sweet arsenic as Firstaide and Ambulon enter behind him.  In his metal paw he held the crumbled offerings Ratchet had thrown earlier.  He sets his optics on that face that turns into dopey-eyed sweetness.

::Now remember the rules and nothing half-assed or it won’t be convincing.::  Drift sends to Ratchet over a private comm.  Aloud he gave a whimpering tremble, looking over the bits of metal.  “You stepped on them, didn’t you?”  He looks up disappointed.  “Perhaps I should have put them on the stand by your berth before I left you for my duty shift.”

Ratchet doesn’t start, but he is keenly aware of how Firstaide and Ambulon do.  He clears his vents and picks up a data pad turning to the stasis-locked patients to hide his snarl.

“Yes, Drift, that would have been the better choice rather than leaving them right in front of my hab-suite door.”  He adds a higher tone to his vocal pattern to make himself sound sweetly disappointed.  “I mean I didn’t even get to see what they were.”

Not missing a beat Drift saunters over to drape his arms around Ratchet’s shoulders, shamelessly taunting the bull.  He fluctuates the light in his optics to make it seem he is batting them.  “Does…does that mean…” he intakes sharply, “you would like more of them?”  With a notable purr and nuzzle to a stiffly held shoulder, he breems happily.  “Of course, Beloved!!”  He dances away, taking in the whole of the med bay.  “I shall leave you these small mementos of our love so that you may display them here.  What a wonderful idea you just had.”

Ratchet grits his denta wishing he could punch the mech behind him.  He has to reset his vocalizer three times before he can answer without snarling at the little glitch.  “Of course that’s what I was going for.”  He turns to face Drift and looks behind to see a swooning Ambulon and wide-eyed ‘Aide.   _ Of all the dirty… _  He eyes the smile on Drift’s face and hesitates before sending on a private comm…::Slag-eater, you’re enjoying this too much!::

A pleased look of mischief crosses Drift’s face so quickly, Ratchet isn’t sure he didn’t imagine it.  He can only stare as Drift reaches into his subspace pocket and pulls out three of the folded bits of metal and hands them to Ratchet before he can say anything.  “Isn’t it lucky I had some more ready then?”

“This…this…”  With a slight shake to his hand, Ratchet takes the offering.

Drift grasps Ratchet’s hands in his and yanks him forward to place a quick smack on his fore-helm.  Ratchet’s right optic twitches before he is able to suppress the angry growl wanting to rise up.

::Shit.::


	2. -The Petted-

Rodimus can only gawk at the scene before him as he enters the weekly command staff meeting, late as usual.  Drift had just slide across the table to pounce on Ratchet and make himself comfortable in the medic’s lap. He snuggled up as close as he could get without melting his plating into Ratchet’s.  Rodimus curses softly when he smacks into a wall because he hadn’t been able to take his optics off the bizarre sight.  He rubs at his fore-helm and sits in the commanding officer’s chair.  Ratchet returns Rodimus’ look coolly before bringing his data-pad closer.  The data-pad holds all of Ratchet's interest.

Ultra Magnus lifts one optic ridge but doesn’t say anything to the pair much to everyone’s surprise.  He merely turns to his CO and wraps a knuckle against the orange helm to gain Rodimus’ attention.  He begins the meeting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.  And as per usual he and Rodimus begin to bicker about the correct course to take the ship in to locate the Knights of Cybertron this week

As the SIC and CO argue over the strategic soundness of pulling coordinates out a tail pipe versus actually doing some research into the way they should go, Brainstorm turns to the cuddling pair.  He taps his briefcase in thought for a moment before deciding not to comment as Drift eyes him with a challenging snarl before snuggling in tighter to the medic’s vibrating chest.  He hides his smirk.  He can clearly hear the repeated warning growls coming from that engine; not that the impatient two-fingered tap against the armrest wasn’t telling enough.

::You know you need to relax.  Would you like me to go over some chants for you?  They can be,:: Drift cuts himself off as the tapping stops, and the creak of a death-grip on the armrest makes itself known.  ::So that’s a no on the chanting, huh?::  He can’t help but to tease the other mech, the temptation to do so was just too great given the situation that Ratchet and he found themselves in.

He swipes a finger against the glass on Ratchet’s chest as he is steadfastly ignored.  Drift settles in to try and get as comfortable as possible as he watches Magnus and Rodimus bicker.  He begins to let his attentions wonder as he stumbles across a memory from a week ago when this whole “assignment” had started in earnest.

Ambulon, the sweet little hopeless romantic, had cornered him to offer his encouragement and some advice on how to soothe Ratchet when he had one of his…what had the ward manager called it?...ah yes! grumpy fits.  The white mech had only smiled and patted the other mech on the helm with a thanks for the advice, not really wanting to know where Ambulon had come across such information.  Because as far as Drift knew the tyrant of the medical community didn’t have a significant other. 

_ It’s no wonder considering that horrific temper of his.  Honestly if he’d just…just… _

Drift’s thoughts begin to scatter as he becomes acutely aware of his core temperature rising.  He stiffens and barely keeps himself from smacking Ratchet hard when he hears the low chuckle coming from deep in the chest he rests his head against.

Ratchet smiles openly and quite smugly as he continues to pet the trembling mech that had made himself at home in his lap.  He had absently moved his free hand up to cup Drift’s head and move it to a more comfortable position for both himself and the other mech when his fingers had accidently scraped the tip of one helm finial earning the medic a soft purring shiver.  His smug look could have scared Unicorn to the depths of the pit as he freely took advantage of the weakness.  It turns adoringly sweet as Drift’s optics meet his.

“Is there something wrong, little snowbird?”

Drift shakes his head slightly but narrows his optics at Ratchet.  “No not in particular.”  He tries to calm his shivering even as he stomps on the coding that activated his pleasure receptors.  He moves to shift off of Ratchet’s lap; taking the hint that perhaps he had pushed a bit too far.

Ratchet tightens his hand on the back of Drift’s helm bringing it up sharply to knock against his.  ::Still want to chant for me?::  He smiles and pecks a kiss on the other’s nose.

The clatter of Drift clambering up onto the table stops the discussion between Rodimus and Magnus.  Both commanding officers stare at Drift as he makes a sudden move toward the exit.  Without giving an excuse, he stuffs himself through the opening door before it fully slides open.  Blue optics stare at a sweetly smiling Ratchet who clears his intakes.

“Has a bit of tank upset.  Said he was going to lie down,” he says non-pulsed by the open stares.  “Brainstorm, I’d like you to come to the med bay later for that exam you’ve been dodging.  While you guys are taking a break from banging your heads against each other, can we discuss the need to make a quick layover at the next colony to restock?”

Magnus is about to answer the medic when a faint scream reaches his audios.  “That…was that from the commanding officers’ hab-suites?”  He tenses a half-step away from his battle coding.

“Nah.  Don’t even worry about it.”  Ratchet smiles at the tense mechs around the table.  “I think Drift just found the thank you gift I left him on his berth is all.  You know how vocal he can be.”  He winks lewdly at the sputtering Rodimus and a second in command who had gone very quiet.

“Medical supplies?”  Perceptor offers to steer the conversation back on track so that he could get back to his lap to wash out his brain module.

::So you found the gift, snowbird?::  Ratchet’s face doesn’t show his inner delight when he receives nothing but a jumble of death threats and questions about his living status.  ::What?  You didn’t like it then?::

::You…you…::  Drift trails off as he begins to pluck the bits of metal from his seams.  He savagely cuts off the comm and stares at what the Hatchet had done to his berth.

::Game on, you rusted virus-ridden piece of slag.::  He sends a few moments later as he takes one of the small origami cranes from a seam on his aft.  He looks at the glyphs etched into the wall of his quarters.

_ These mini-Laserbeaks are a NO.  So I’ll give ‘em back since you love ‘em so much.  Piss off with love, Ratchet. _


	3. -The Prestigious Booty-Shake-

The lock snaps into place.  The sound-proofing was sure to be the best given that Brainstorm was the one had installed it.  Ratchet lets his shoulders fall after another week of enduring this stupidity.  He frowns with a shake of his helm as he chases away the almost instant anger at Drift, more specifically at Drift’s merciless antics over this past week.  The little white idiot had ramped up his pounce out of nowhere and cuddle the hell of the medic strikes after he had found Ratchet’s present.  And the little devious shit had even brazenly started to encourage the petting he had been so quick to run from.

Quick on the heels of the anger at Drift came a quietly boiling rage at Smokescreen’s betting pool.  Ratchet was just profoundly glad that Swindle hadn’t decided to invite himself along on the cruise.  The medic triggers a panel in the wall to activate and slide aside.  Anger and frustration were not why he was here.   He huffs and begins his training simulation before moving to the middle of the room.

A bold step forward.

The cant of red hips swivel to the lusty beat.

Hands slide and slip over the frame invitingly.

The world drops away.

-0-

“Okay.  I give.”  Drift watches the excited ward manager skip towards one of the training rooms.  “Why are you dragging…I mean why’d you ask to see me here?”

Ambulon turns and beams at the white mech.  “Because you need training,” he winks slyly.

Drift shifts but follows along despite his misgivings, that and the fact he’s curious about this training Ambulon keeps saying he needs.  Did the nurse know some interesting fighting moves?  He quickens his pace at that thought.  Ratchet had always seemed able to bring down even the biggest mechs when they got out of hand.  Even little FirstAide could do it.   _ Sweet!  I knew the medics had a secret fighting style. _  Anticipation moves through his frame as he falls into step right behind Ambulon.

The other mech picks up on Drift’s excitement which doubles his.  “There’s a special training room Ratchet requested from Ultra Magnus.  The medic staff goes there for this,” he chitters in his excitement.

“Yeah!”  Drift’s optics positively shine.

Both pull up short at the locked door that doesn’t automatically open like it should.  Drift looks disconcerted, but Ambulon’s smile is still bright as he punches in the access code.  He had thought it would be occupied.  What given the pressure Ratchet had seemed to be under this week.  The med bay had been particularly full of injury cases that were trying even ‘Aide’s patience given the stupidity that had caused them.

The music reaches Drift’s audios first.  It makes him pause before stepping into the dim room behind Ambulon.  In the center of the room is quite the enticing sight.  Hips cant and swivel to the down-beat invitingly.  Fingers flow in waves to the up-beat.  A small smile graces a normally stoic face, and a soft light of pleasure sighs within the dim optic illumination.  Ambulon watches with open pride.  Drift can only gawk at Ratchet as the older mech indulges himself in the rhythm.

The music slows, and Ratchet huffs once to clear his vents.  His field is filled with a calmness he had been missing.  He turns back toward the panel to queue up another song.  He smiles warmly at the familiar silhouette that is his ward manager.  Ambulon returns the smile and moves forward.  Ratchet is stopped short at the sight of Drift.

“Almost wish I had camera attached to my helm,” Drift husks.

Ratchet pulls up to glare at the white mech.  Offense clearly written on his face.  “What the hell are you even doing here?!”  He doesn’t wait for an answer as he moves swiftly forward and snaps Drift up by the scruff of his neck.  He shoves the other mech through the door and locks it tight.

Ambulon watches the spectacle quietly as Ratchet stomps over to the wall panel and gruffs about not having any damn privacy on this forsaken ship.  It slowly dawns on him, and he begins to plot as he moves into the steps of the dance that Ratchet had selected to return himself to the mellow mood he had lost because of the white mech.


	4. -The Dodge Game-

Playing dodge the CMO had become Drift’s favorite game after seeing the thing he shouldn’t have.  He darts behind a bulkhead at any flash of red.  His frame sags in relief when it was just one of the minibots.  A dark hand scrubs at a tired looking face.  The Lost Light’s 3iC leans back and stares at the ceiling, feeling completely foolish for hiding.

Leaning forward, he cradles his helm against his arms.  It had been a few days since he had seen Ratchet dancing in that locked workout room.  A few days of making himself scarce and taking extra shifts to avoid thinking about the wild turning his spark.  Drift groans and whacks his head back against the bulkhead.  His optics shutter, and he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Come on, Drift.  Stop thinking about it.”  But his self coaching was not really helping matters.  Because the more he tried not to think about it, the more he kinda really wanted to think about it.  

The 3iC shifts against the bulkhead, hunkering down into a more meditative position.  Thoughts chase each other around in his mind even as he tries to drive them out.  The way the light shifted and glinted off the white and red beneath the soft light chased the thought of the relaxed and happy look on Ratchet’s face.  The fluid flexibility of the medic’s frame as it moved with ease through the gentle routine chased thoughts of the way those hands formed intricate patterns through the air.

“You got a big problem there.”

Drift nearly jumps out of his frame as a digit pokes his helm.  He glues his back to the wall, spark thundering in its chamber and watches Firstaide with wide optics.  His sputters before squeaking, “Aide, wha-”

The CMO-in-training actually has the nerve to be grinning at him.  “Oh don’t worry.  I won’t rat you out to the boss, not yet anyway.  It’s fun watching you two ‘pretend’ to be in love.”  The young doctor flicks one side of his vizor panel in a clear wink.  “Besides that, Ambulon is already planning for the future.”  Aide has a look of fondness to him.  “He’s been making plans,” he whispers conspiratorially to Drift with a giggle.  Firstaide stands and salutes his 3iC.  “Duty calls.  And you better not stay here ‘cause Ratch might be on his way.”

Drift nods his helm and stumbles to his peds.  He keeps a sharp optic on the young doctor until he was out of sight.  He gathers himself and heads towards Rodimus’ office.  Maybe he could convince his friend to call a high command meeting with Magnus.  He hears a familiar tread behind him and picks up the pace, dashing forward toward potential freedom.

 


End file.
